space between us. I need the distance to think and it's too hard with him invading my senses. It's then that I notice the band is on stage, obviously watching us but not wanting to interrupt. Leslie sits on the edge, long legs dangling, watching intently.
"It did mean something. To me. To you guys. I should go," I say.
I don't want to be in the middle of somewhere I don't belong. I turn to leave but he grabs my arm.
"Don't go. I didn't think."
He looks so broken and hurt that a part of me crumbles at the sight. I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him tightly.
"I love you, Miles. I'm not mad, but I need to leave," I say in his ear.
I feel his shoulders sag but he nods and lets me back away. I try to smile, to convince him that we are fine. Miles is all I have besides my sister. He means the world to me and I don't want anything to ever break us.
"Call me tomorrow," I say before I turn and make my way out the doors.
On the sidewalk, I gasp for air. Pulling out my phone, I get an Uber ride and lean against the building to wait. I'm confused and my heart aches when I think about hurting Miles. Tonight was supposed to be a step back to the way things used to be, but instead we took a step back.
Tonight, I have a date with a bottle of wine I know is waiting for me on the counter. Tomorrow this will all be in the past.
Coming here was supposed to get me away from how things used to be. Maybe it's time I commit to the change and live with it.
T EN
Brooklyn
One thing that sucks about moving out of Dad's house is the lack of alcohol. At home, there was always a variety and plenty on hand. Dad didn't discriminate when it came to drinking. He liked his beers, hard liquors, expensive whiskeys, and cheap wines.
London and I don't have much money to spend on such items, but I did grab a few bottles of wine this week. I busted my ass at the club all week on stage and I think I deserve to be able to enjoy the tips I made. I didn't think to get a cork screw though.
A lesser woman would have gone to the store or even given up. I'm not a quitter. I have a phone and Google, so nothing can stop me. YouTube is very helpful with some ideas. Unfortunately, we don't have a hammer or screwdriver either. I click on another video.
"We've got to have scissors, right?" I ask the empty room.
I start opening every kitchen drawer. Now it isn't even about the wine anymore. It's personal now. I will defeat the cork.
"Score."
I grab the scissors and open them up. Shoving one blade in the cork, I start to twist. I pause briefly to consider the probability of cutting myself. I could bleed out before I could get help. Feeling nervous, I grab my phone and set it next to the bottle for easy access.
The video made it look easier. I twist and pull but I end up only messing up the cork. I grab a steak knife and stick that in too. Using them both, I finally wiggle the damn thing out.
"Fuck yeah!" I shout, throwing my hands up in victory. I only wish London were here to see this moment. Though she probably would have had a simple solution twenty minutes ago.
I take the bottle, deciding I didn't even need a glass. I would need to use a coffee cup anyway and that's not acceptable. In the living room, I plug my phone into the speaker and pick a playlist. Turning it up, I stand on the coffee table and take a healthy gulp of wine.
I never get to dance if I'm not getting paid. You would think I wouldn't even enjoy it, but you would be wrong.
I love dancing. There's something about letting go of everything and moving however I want. When no one is watching, I'm free and moving on instinct instead of memorized and carefully planned moves. I feel alive and young. Every worry melts away and let myself do whatever the hell I want for once.
I'm sweating after few songs, and I pull my long hair up into a messy bun to keep it off my neck. My bottle is almost empty and I frown at it.
"Why do you
"It did mean something. To me. To you guys. I should go," I say.
I don't want to be in the middle of somewhere I don't belong. I turn to leave but he grabs my arm.
"Don't go. I didn't think."
He looks so broken and hurt that a part of me crumbles at the sight. I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him tightly.
"I love you, Miles. I'm not mad, but I need to leave," I say in his ear.
I feel his shoulders sag but he nods and lets me back away. I try to smile, to convince him that we are fine. Miles is all I have besides my sister. He means the world to me and I don't want anything to ever break us.
"Call me tomorrow," I say before I turn and make my way out the doors.
On the sidewalk, I gasp for air. Pulling out my phone, I get an Uber ride and lean against the building to wait. I'm confused and my heart aches when I think about hurting Miles. Tonight was supposed to be a step back to the way things used to be, but instead we took a step back.
Tonight, I have a date with a bottle of wine I know is waiting for me on the counter. Tomorrow this will all be in the past.
Coming here was supposed to get me away from how things used to be. Maybe it's time I commit to the change and live with it.
T EN
Brooklyn
One thing that sucks about moving out of Dad's house is the lack of alcohol. At home, there was always a variety and plenty on hand. Dad didn't discriminate when it came to drinking. He liked his beers, hard liquors, expensive whiskeys, and cheap wines.
London and I don't have much money to spend on such items, but I did grab a few bottles of wine this week. I busted my ass at the club all week on stage and I think I deserve to be able to enjoy the tips I made. I didn't think to get a cork screw though.
A lesser woman would have gone to the store or even given up. I'm not a quitter. I have a phone and Google, so nothing can stop me. YouTube is very helpful with some ideas. Unfortunately, we don't have a hammer or screwdriver either. I click on another video.
"We've got to have scissors, right?" I ask the empty room.
I start opening every kitchen drawer. Now it isn't even about the wine anymore. It's personal now. I will defeat the cork.
"Score."
I grab the scissors and open them up. Shoving one blade in the cork, I start to twist. I pause briefly to consider the probability of cutting myself. I could bleed out before I could get help. Feeling nervous, I grab my phone and set it next to the bottle for easy access.
The video made it look easier. I twist and pull but I end up only messing up the cork. I grab a steak knife and stick that in too. Using them both, I finally wiggle the damn thing out.
"Fuck yeah!" I shout, throwing my hands up in victory. I only wish London were here to see this moment. Though she probably would have had a simple solution twenty minutes ago.
I take the bottle, deciding I didn't even need a glass. I would need to use a coffee cup anyway and that's not acceptable. In the living room, I plug my phone into the speaker and pick a playlist. Turning it up, I stand on the coffee table and take a healthy gulp of wine.
I never get to dance if I'm not getting paid. You would think I wouldn't even enjoy it, but you would be wrong.
I love dancing. There's something about letting go of everything and moving however I want. When no one is watching, I'm free and moving on instinct instead of memorized and carefully planned moves. I feel alive and young. Every worry melts away and let myself do whatever the hell I want for once.
I'm sweating after few songs, and I pull my long hair up into a messy bun to keep it off my neck. My bottle is almost empty and I frown at it.
"Why do you
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